


what's a spy story without a little interrogation and torture?

by kivancalcite



Category: Playmobil: The Movie (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Blood, Electrocution, Gen, Interrogation, Knives, Pain, Restraints, Spies & Secret Agents, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Torture, also free trend of me getting enemies to refer to rex in a terrible manner as 'pretty boy', being a movie spy comes with its downsides, charming agent annoys enemy enough and they are tired, he's trying, it's not super graphic i swear, of a sort, of his schtick, pretty boy (derogatory), rex tries to lighten the mood but he's not really convincing, tbh a torture chair is literally mentioned in the film soooo, this is what happens when a spy gets caught, this was the first thing done for whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28623408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivancalcite/pseuds/kivancalcite
Summary: Seeing as this is about a month since I first started/posted, I'm bringing different content with Playmobil: The Movie and my favourite secret agent Rex Dasher, where he's unfortunately going to be on the receiving end of interrogation James Bond style after being caught sneaking around a very familiar enemy base.
Kudos: 1





	what's a spy story without a little interrogation and torture?

It wasn’t so much torturous, pun not intended, anymore, but rather exasperating, dozy and waking up tied to _something_ or other in an enemy base. Of course this wasn’t the part Rex signed up for, but he knew this was the sort of… _risks_ that a career like a secret agent would entail. Besides, maybe he had too much fun exercising his usual charm with the interrogator.

Even with his drowsiness and the bright lights of the room, a look of frustration was drawn across his face. The cold, unfeeling atmosphere of an interrogation room was no stranger to him, though it certainly felt emptier and frankly a little bit colder than usual. Probably not helped by the fact that he was missing his jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as his arms were pinned into the cold metal sides of a chair by similarly cold metal cuffs. _Trust them to have the Bond villain style aesthetic down to a T with this_ , he thought dryly, _and, well fuck, of course they took my glasses and watch. That stuff isn’t even mine._

“It’s amazing who you can find around here who’s clearly not wanted.”

Rex was broken out of his reverie by a soft, almost sickly sweet voice from the corner of the room. That was torture enough by itself, hearing that before anything had even happened. But he didn’t let that bother him, as the figure approached him, he was used to that. Same old scenario. He’d spent a whole career getting used to these things, even if they weren’t exactly…beneficial in the long run.

SKULL agents generally looked similar, not helped by those damn coats (which he could really use in the chill atmosphere of this room and the cold metal that burned into his skin), but the recognisable feature was usually the hair. This time it was a lady, with similarly brown hair like his but wavy and reached just past her shoulders. She didn’t look terribly happy, but there was a spark of something in her blue eyes and a twitch in the side of her mouth that spoke otherwise of this well-known intruder that she was now standing a metre or so from, arms crossed.

Rex raised an eyebrow, a twitch of a smile on his own face. He’d gotten far too used to being intimidated, considering it took up a decent part of his career. “Do you say that to every person you interrogate?” he asked, mildly joking despite the cold, “I’ve heard that one before.”

He looked up at her face, which was clearly not budging. Usually expected, he thought, though she responded in kind with a flash of sharp steel just inches from his face. He flinched back in instinct and shock against the metal chair, the cold metal of the cuffs now biting into his wrists. The brilliance of the fluorescent lights reflected menacingly on the long blade in front of his face, and he briefly glanced warily at it before looking back up at her. She looked slightly more amused, and he cursed himself for flinching.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase before you start any of that, _pretty boy_ ,” she responded, clearly annoyed, “I’m the one in charge here, not you. You’re the one who decides to intrude every time into our business.”

Rex kept switching his gaze between the blade and her face. He couldn’t help but make a expression of indignation, as if they’d finally had enough of his antics. “I don’t decide,” he bitterly remarked, “it’s part of my job. Whatever you’re doing, it’s clearly my problem too.”

The point of the blade reached the underside of his jaw, and he hissed, still managing to maintain his hard, bitter expression. This obviously wasn’t the atmosphere for joking anymore. She laughed mockingly, practically regarding his retort as pathetic.

“Something that you’d evidently be willing to put yourself on the line for, it seems.”

“If you’re willing to hurt other people to get your way in life, I guess. But that’s just me.”

He managed a crooked grin as he said this, despite where the knife was pointing. He was shivering with a blade to his neck, he’d experienced far worse than this.

The lady turned the blade so it was along up the right side of his neck, just below his jaw and pressed down and he almost choked, swallowing down his fear. She had more of a grin on her face this time as he felt it cut ever so slightly into his skin, and he felt a familiar sensation of something warm trickle down his neck. 

“You’re dangerously close to betting your life on something like this.”

This time Rex didn’t have a response to what she said. He let out a few shivery, pained breaths, attempting to not look pleading as he felt her continue to hold the knife there, warm blood dripping gently down his neck. Sure, he practically had a sacrifical streak, but not like this. Not like this. This was too much of a moment of weakness to die like this.

It felt like an eternity before she removed the knife and he let a sharp breath out, almost as if a weight was sitting in his chest. He eyed her as she nonchalantly wiped the blood off the knife with her sleeve. The cut on his neck stung, and he was well aware of the blood that crept down his neck and collarbone.

“I thought so. It would seem ridiculous for you to bet your own life against us. Besides, it’s much more fun you being alive,” she drawled, pocketing the knife, “you look so much prettier when you’re in pain.”

Rex looked at her, grimacing. So what if he was being threatened by a sadistic interrogator? Not like they didn’t enjoy doling out misery to the enemies they came across. 

“Alright then, you sadist,” he spat, a smug grin creeping up on his face, “isn’t that a bit much?” 

She responded in kind with a more smug, vicious grin of her own, and laughed. “If only,” she replied, her hands now behind her back, “and it’s not something your charm will be able to stop me from doing. You should know that by now.”

There seemed no instant where he could say anything, even if he could tell this was leading in a particular direction. His face dropped as the thought hit him—

—the realisation unfortunately hitting him as a shocking blur of pure agony washed over him like a tidalwave, suffocating him to the point that he couldn’t even scream. His muscles seemed frozen by this sensation, the pain leaping like a lightning bolt through his wholy body, the cuffs now biting like hell against his skin. His feet skidded across the rough floor, his back arched against the chair as his head tilted over the back of it.

The agony seemed to stop as fast as it had appeared, and he slumped back into the chair, breathing heavily and forcing himself into a more or less upright position. His body was aching and tense against the metal, and the lady had taken enough steps forward so she was effectively towering over him menacingly in front of him, her face clearly one of cruel enjoyment at his expense. Even in his pain, he managed a seething snarl up in her direction, was wasn’t usually him at all.

She leaned over him, so their faces were barely inches apart from each other. “Now then,” she hissed, her voice laced with malice and eyes studying his tired, pale face, “why don’t we get straight to the point and you tell me exactly what you were doing here, _or I make you suffer even more than my colleagues ever managed to with you_.”


End file.
